


A Sickness of the Mind

by Not_A_Better_Place



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Action, Blood, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gun Kink, Hurt No Comfort, Low Honor Arthur Morgan, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, My First Fanfic, Pain, Some Plot, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Violence, spoilers up to beaver hollow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 20:45:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19070350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_A_Better_Place/pseuds/Not_A_Better_Place
Summary: Life is filled with uncertainties, yet one thing was for sure; Arthur Morgan was going to hell.The wild look in Micah’s eyes bore into him, fear and hatred expressed through furrowed brows and bared teeth.(a story in which Arthur kind of goes overboard in giving Micah what he deserves...)





	A Sickness of the Mind

**Author's Note:**

> This could be super triggering so mind the tags! Also this is my first fanfic so feedback would be appreciated! enjoy

Life is filled with uncertainties, yet one thing was for sure; Arthur Morgan was going to hell.

The possibility was uncertain before, as his opportunities to do honourable deeds began to balance out the terrible, a life of crime coming to a halt with the realization he hadn’t much longer to live. He began to see that all that he had believed in was a lie, and that his life's efforts and struggles would ultimately result in more dust to the wind. Those whom Arthur had given everything had turned their backs on him and his newfound repentance, and for once he became desperately aware of his total and utter lack of control. No matter what he did in search of redemption, he couldn't escape the fact that it was already too late. The sickness that grew inside him had taken over his body and seemed to infiltrate his mind, demanding an enemy he could destroy with his fists. 

He was spiraling and needed something, no, someone to bear the brunt of his fury. Arthur eventually came to the conclusion that, while disease and ideology couldn’t be beaten to death, Micah Bell certainly could.

Micah Bell, the only man Arthur could stand less than himself. Micah embodied everything he hated, Micah was the root of his misery. The wretched older man had taken everything from Arthur. His family, his chance of survival, his ability to sleep at night. Micah had manipulated Dutch into his bidding, betrayed the gang, and committed crimes beyond what one could consider human. 

But it was the little things. The small, subtle things Micah did that made Arthur want to beat his fucking head in. The way Micah spoke to the women of the gang when he thought no one was listening. The ugly smirk he wore as he sharpened his knife. The predacious way he watched Jack from the shadows of the camp. The fact that he thought Arthur wouldn't notice the damn blood trail in the woods after Cain disappeared.  
Arthur thought he would go mad from the amount of times he witnessed Micah face no consequences for his vile acts. 

Thus, on one particularly damp, foggy day in which brooding clouds choked out the sun, Arthur made an equally clouded decision. He would use his irredeemable state to inflict as much suffering upon Micah as he could muster, be it the last thing he ever do. 

He had the perfect opportunity. Micah told Dutch his plan to head off to work on some ‘potential leads’ for a few days, to which Dutch apathetically agreed upon. The traitor wore his infuriating smirk as he mounted his horse and began heading down the trail, away from beaver hollow and slightly closer to the Pinkerton outpost. Arthur didn't bother justifying his exit, just ran down his horses stirrups and slung himself over its back, lungs protesting in the process. 

Dutch would be suspicious either way. He wasn't himself these days. 

With a light kick, Arthur encouraged his horse onward. As he maneuvered his way downhill and ducked under low-hanging maple branches, he made sure to keep a distance between himself and Micah, to remain concealed yet able to track him down. At one point, a few wretched members of the murfree brood confronted Micah, launching themselves in front of his path, stained machetes prepared to cut him down. Arthur froze, praying they wouldn't glance in his direction and reveal his presence. Luckily Micah drew his duel pistols faster than the festering creatures could shift their gaze, planting two bullets in each members chest. They collapsed on the spot, lifeless bodies hitting the mudied trail with a soft thud. Micah laughed as he returned his beloved pistols to their holsters, letting his horse tread upon the soulless corpses as he continued on his journey unscathed. Arthur reflected on how unfortunate it was such a talented gunslinger had to be such a poor excuse of a man. 

Dawn turned to dusk and Arthur finally saw Micah pull off on a remote trail in some foothills north-east of Valentine. After following the overgrown path for a few minutes, a lit up cabin with delicately arranged flower boxes came into sight. Screams and a door being bust down could be heard, as well as four gunshots and the distinct laugh of a man with no honour whatsoever. Arthur watched as Micah dragged the woman from her homestead and shoved her ungraciously in some holly bushes to the side of the property. Her blood coated his black leather jacket, dripping down the surface like rain. He glanced briefly at his bloodied hands and Arthur couldn't help but notice that the man's pants now formed a tent.

It was then that Arthur decided upon each of their fates. He could accept his place among the lost souls of hell should his next course of action go as planned. Once Micah had shut himself in the cabin, he crept up to the front door, revolver in one hand and rope in the other. The weapon felt weightless in his grasp as he crouched in anticipation, adrenaline causing him to shake. He used every ounce of willpower within to keep his cough at bay. Finally, Arthur heard the doorknob turn beside him. With all of his built up rage, he slammed himself into the door so hard he sent Micah tumbling backwards with a surprised shout. Before the man could recuperate, Arthur was on him, pounding his head with his fists as hard as he could. Micah yelped and shouted, swinging his arms right back in fury. Arthur dealt a particularly hard blow to his jaw, allowing him brief access to the other man's neck. He seized the opportunity to wrench his hands around Micah’s throat and squeeze until his body went limp. Micah stopped struggling long enough for Arthur to tie his wrists behind his back, pick him up, and throw him down ungracefully on the poor woman's newly made bed.  
It was exhilarating. After so many weeks of feeling helpless and lost, Arthur was in control of everything. Of his breathing, of his actions, and of Micah. The latter was staring upwards at him, coughing and cursing as air returned to his lungs. “What the fucks the plan here Morgan? Can't a man just get some peace and quiet?!”

Arthur didn't say anything in response. Instead, he aggressively flipped Micah onto his back, staring him dead in the eye. Micah's own blood was already mixing with the strangers across his skin.

“That ain't a very polite greeting, Morgan”

Arthur situated himself over Micah, every limb locking him in place.

“See yourself out right now and know one has to know.”

Arthur tossed Micah’s revolvers behind him.

“This ain’t a fair game Morgan”

Arthur reached for the clasp on Micah’s belt. 

His body froze, expression melting into something Arthur hadn’t seen before. The shock was quickly replaced with anger and Micah started violently struggling. He tried to dig his spurred boots into Arthurs legs and sides, kicking as hard as he could given the position. Arthur shot backwards and dug his fingers into Micah’s unwashed hair as the man tried to headbutt him. Arthur let him keep flailing, holding him down by the neck and pinning him with his legs. He waited until Micah’s heavy breathing indicated his exhaustion. Perhaps it would have been more effective to keep him lying on his front, but Arthur wanted to see his face. 

The wild look in Micah’s eyes bore into him, fear and hatred expressed through furrowed brows and bared teeth. “Get the fuck away from me, you dirty bastard. I’ll fucking kill you”. Again Arthur said nothing. He removed the bandana from his own neck and tied it around Micah’s head, gagging the man from continuing his onslaught of insults, or at least making it a lot harder. He then proceeded to remove the unclipped belt, along with his pants and spurs. Micah’s breathing started to quicken again as Arthur spread his legs, resisting to no avail. 

He yelped something muffled and violent as Arthur forced one finger inside him. Pain ripped through his lower half, causing him to gasp for air and bite his tongue. Arthur didn’t give him a chance to get used to the foreign feeling before starting to pull his finger in and out rapidly. He added a second one much too soon, repeating the previous action except clawing his fingers inside of the other man, as if searching for the very source of evil within him. Arthur watched Micah writhe under him, feeling disgusted with himself as the blondes face contorted in agony. 

But there was no turning back now, this needed to happen.

Arthur removed his fingers from Micah’s reddened hole and undid his own belts, quickly trying to work himself up to the task, despite his revulsion. Micah had turned from infuriated to hysterical, twisting his body and using all his strength to get away from his captor, gasping at a dangerously fast pace and his hands working against his restraints. 

In his thrashing, Arthur could see more of the worn, beaten skin along Micah’s neck and hips, the result of a life of crime and dishonour. He wondered which scar was the one that led to his betrayal, or if he had needed to be convinced whatsoever. It didn’t matter anymore, he guessed, the damage had been done. Arthur snapped his attention back to the task at hand, stroking his cock as he lined up with Micah’s entrance, who gave him one last desperate glance. 

He grabbed his hips with both hands and shoved inside of Micah as hard as he could, cock throbbing in response to the sudden heat and force. It must have hurt pretty bad, because Micah let out an agonized cry, then cutting into a ragged gasp as he struggled for any composure. Arthur could barely get halfway in due to his poor preparation, small droplets of blood starting to line around his dick. He ignored the turning in his stomach and continued the assault, thrusting in a second time, going in a bit further. 

Micah’s grunts of pain echoed throughout the cabin, as Arthur started to thrust in and out faster. He removed one hand from an abused hip and grasped the smaller mans lengthy hair instead, pulling it carelessly as leverage for deeper, more violent thrusts. Arthur could feel his own breathing quicken as the pleasure caught up with him, replacing the disgust and increasing with every cry and moan he dragged out of the man he was currently dominating. 

Micah’s eyes had begun to glaze over, looking aimlessly to the side, out the grilled window and into the starless night. Arthur wouldn't have it. He clenched his hand tight around Micah’s half-hard cock, stirring him back to the present. It was obvious the reaction was one of bodily instinct, as the look of embarrassment, hatred and misery Micah wore made it clear he wasn’t enjoying this. 

With one particularly forceful thrust, Arthur growled as he bottomed out and held his place deep within Micah’s guts. A lot more blood followed this time when he pulled out, the lack of lubrication causing tearing, every thrust opening the wounds further. Horrifyingly, Arthur could only feel himself get more riled up as he continued fucking into his bloody victim. In a bout of exhilaration, he reached behind him for one of the discarded revolvers. 

Micah convulsed as Arthur proceeded to shove the engraved revolver in alongside his cock, the words “Vengeance is hereby mine” disappearing inside of him as the barrel was pushed in deeper. Matching his movement to the revolver, Arthur felt heat pooling in his stomach, reinforced by the defeated sounds coming from Micah. He cocked the hammer and sped up his pace as he finally released himself deep inside of the other man, tossing his head back in ecstasy as pleasure infiltrated his mind. 

He had no idea if what he was doing could be justified and he didn't care anymore. Micah seemed to choke on his spit as Arthur pulled out, pink liquid pouring from his ass and clogging the barrel of his most treasured possession. The ruined gun was tossed to the floor and Arthur began to tuck himself back into his pants, still on a high from his orgasm. He got off of Micah and stood up, observing his work as he replaced his gun belt on his hips. 

Before he could decide what to do with him, a shriek of anger came from behind Arthur and a bullet whizzed past his ear. A man, presumably the husband of the murdered woman, stood in the doorway trembling. He had his rifle aimed shoulder high, shouting “You monsters killed my-” before a shot rang out and he collapsed on the front step. Arthur returned his schofield to its holster. Unfortunately, the distraction had given Micah enough time to clamber to the other side of the bed and retrieve his gun belt. He cut his rope ties off and grabbed his remaining revolver, lurching to his feet with a painful grunt, gun aimed at his attacker. 

Arthur turned to him and didn’t make a further move, just watched as the broken man pulled his pants up, put on his dirty jacket and backed towards the door. Micah looked as if he was going to say something, a morbid joke or insult, but seemingly hadn’t the capacity to come up with anything to diminish how severely mortified he felt and looked. Arthur maintained his stance, nodding once before Micah lowered his arm and exited the cabin, failing to conceal his limp. 

Alone once more, Arthur finally gave in to the fire in his lungs and coughed profusely, the sickness continuing to infect every part of his being.


End file.
